


Too Darn Hot

by WastingYourGum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:59:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8030374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: Sherlock gets more than he bargained for when he attempts a spot of burglary on one of the hottest nights of the year...





	Too Darn Hot

A trickle of sweat ran down Sherlock's back as he crouched in the darkest corner of the second floor balcony and waited for an unexpected passer-by to pass by in the street below.

He plucked at his shirt where it clung uncomfortably to his skin. The blazing heat of the day had barely dissipated; even now in the middle of the night the air was still heavy and humid. He missed the security of his long coat but it was far too hot for more than one layer, especially when he was exerting himself paying dubious house calls.

Fortunately the heat also meant there was an open and inviting window for him to climb through which would save him a few minutes. Based on the layout of the other flats below this one it should be above the sink in the kitchenette which would give him a relatively easy climb down on the other side.

Once the lone pedestrian's footsteps had faded into the distance and he was sure the coast was clear, he climbed over onto the outside of the railing, reached for the window ledge and pulled himself up and in.

There was an empty beer can on the draining board just below the window sill.

He nudged it with his knee as he climbed into the room. It wobbled on the brink before tipping over and he had to snatch it in mid-air before it clattered on to the linoleum floor and gave away his presence.

He dropped lightly to the floor, replaced the beer can and crept past the kitchenette towards the seating area. There was enough light coming from the street-lamps outside through the thin curtains to enable him to silently navigate the obstacle course of furniture, take away containers, shoes and newspapers. The lingering scent of spicy food seemed strangely appropriate to the muggy atmosphere.

Sherlock's lips pursed in annoyance as a scan of the floor and coffee table followed by a quick check of the bathroom failed to yield the object of his search.

It must be in the only other room - along with the owner.

He stopped by the bedroom door. A grubby training shoe was placed by the door jamb to stop it closing over and allow what little air there was to circulate through the flat. He listened until he heard the tell-tale measured breathing of sleep from within before he eased the door further open and slipped inside to look around.

He spotted what he'd come for almost immediately - the plain manilla folder was on the bedside table closest to him. He tip-toed towards it.

A hint of a breeze suddenly stirred the curtains. Sherlock froze as the body on the bed shifted restlessly and muttered something.

He looked directly at the bed's occupant for the first time - and nearly swallowed his tongue.

Lestrade had kicked his bed sheets off to one side. He was lying on his back with one arm raised beside his head and the other resting on his stomach.  

He was completely naked.

Sherlock hadn't considered this as a possible side-effect of the warm weather; then again, he hadn't considered what Lestrade might wear in bed at all. He tried to think of Lestrade as little as possible. Far better to think of him as part of the amorphous mass of "Scotland Yard" rather than an attractive and desirable individual - it was too distracting from the work.

He was giving him his full consideration now though - after all, it would be very remiss of him to spurn such an opportunity for more detailed study. 

Lestrade's hair was more messy than usual and the stubble on his face was visible even in the gloom. His face was relaxed in sleep however, smoothing out some of the worry lines and giving him a more youthful appearance. The movement of the curtains had cast a thin band of yellow light diagonally across his body from hip to shoulder like a golden sash. A fine sheen of sweat made his skin glisten, highlighting the well defined muscles on his arms and emphasising the dark hair covering his chest and leading down over the soft curve of his stomach.

One knee was raised to the side allowing his legs to fall open. Clear tan lines across his thighs showed the exact length of the shorts he must have been wearing while sunbathing. Lack of any shorts now allowed Sherlock to see the exact length of something else.

Even dormant it was an impressive sight.

Sherlock made a small choking noise as he tried to get some moisture back into his suddenly dry mouth. The effect was instantaneous. Lestrade leaped from the bed in one fluid motion and Sherlock found himself pinned against the wall with Lestrade's forearm across his throat and a fist rapidly approaching his face. It swerved away at the last second as Lestrade's conscious brain caught up with his instincts.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade glared at him. "Y'know one of these days I'm going to follow through and break your bloody nose. What the hell are you doing here?"

Sherlock was enormously grateful that Lestrade wouldn't be able to tell that his flushed face wasn't entirely a product of the heat. He found himself at a complete loss for words. His brain was too full of _Lestrade. Naked Lestrade. Naked sweaty Lestrade pressed against me. Naked._ "I…"

"Well?"

"I…" Sherlock glanced at the bedside table.

Lestrade followed his gaze and sighed. He released the pressure across Sherlock's chest and stepped back. "I told you I'd bring those files by tomorrow."

"I…"

"Christ. It's too fucking hot for your antics, Sherlock." Lestrade sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and leaned back on his palms with his legs slightly spread. He tilted his head back, addressing his next remark to the ceiling. "I'm not even going to apologise for being in the altogether - you break in when it's thirty degrees, you take me as you find me."

Sherlock swallowed. "Your altogether is altogether very appealing. And I think I would very much like to take it," he croaked.

Lestrade brought his head forward slowly and gave him a very long, searching look - pausing for a significant second as he reached Sherlock's groin - before grinning and replying, "Is that so?"

Sherlock nodded.

"I think in that case you're seriously overdressed for the temperature in here, Mr Holmes." Lestrade patted the bed next to him. "Why don't you come over here and let me help you with that?"

Sherlock smiled, peeled himself off the wall and started undoing his shirt buttons…


End file.
